


There Are _ Impostors Among Us

by themetafictionist



Series: Please don't take these siriusly [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Among Us References, Crack, Crimes of Grindelwald quotes, Espionage, Gen, I'm Sorry, Impostors, Literal Crack, bamf kreacher
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-02
Updated: 2020-12-02
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:28:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 634
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27836068
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/themetafictionist/pseuds/themetafictionist
Summary: This very random scene popped into my head when I suddenly remembered a certain scene from The Crimes of Grindelwald and somehow thought of Among Us. I honestly don't know what this is.
Series: Please don't take these siriusly [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2001448
Kudos: 1





	There Are _ Impostors Among Us

“Do nothing when I speak of this. You must remain calm and contain your emotions.” Seated at the head of the table in the Malfoys’ dining room, Lord Voldemort surveyed the crowd of wizards and witches who had come to attend his victory ball. He hadn’t won yet, not truly—the Chosen One had managed to escape, though he’d been lying low for several weeks. But no longer. 

“There are impostors here among us.” _Gasps._ Heads turned. 

“Silence!” Voldemort roared. Immediately, all noise fell away. He continued, “Harry Potter, also known as Undesirable Number One, has been _missing_ ever since the Final Battle. And yet—his death was never confirmed. Today, he has deigned to grace Lucius’s lovely hall with his presence, Polyjuiced as one of you. Unfortunately… quite unfortunately, he has forgotten that I share a connection with his mind, and can therefore see where he is. Come out, now, Mr. Potter, you lurking in the back disguised as Travers! Your little game is over.” 

Harry looked around in panic, but stepped forward. “Yeah? And what’s it you want from me, huh, Voldy? Missing your old Horcruxes? Want a new nose? Need therapy?” 

Voldemort smirked. “You’re a sneaky little impostor, aren’t you? But I know you did not come here alone today. No—Mr. Potter always needs his friends to support him. Tell me, where are the charming Mr. Weasley and Miss Granger hiding?” The crowd turned to each other, whispers and accusations flying across the room. 

“Come closer, fellow wizards!” he called. “Join us.” Harry shook his head, eyes silently pleading, but Voldemort laughed. “Show yourselves, and perhaps I’ll spare your miserable lives.” 

“No, don’t—” Harry whispered. 

“If you don’t show yourselves, I will Crucio your dear friend Mr. Potter here until you do. You have five seconds.” 

To mounting hisses and angry jeers, Ron and Hermione knew they had no choice but to walk forward and show themselves. They were wildly outnumbered, and the crowd was hostile. They tried and failed to look brave and unafraid and courageous and insert other Gryffindor traits here*. 

“Excellent. Now—” 

“Crack!” 

More gasps from the crowd. They glanced around fearfully, less certain now. Harry, Ron, and Hermione were grinning. They hadn’t been sure; they’d thought he had been unable to come, but— 

The features of Severus Snape’s face melted away until they were those of a bald, wrinkled old house-elf’s. Kreacher Apparated to the front the room, landing on top of the Dark Lord’s head. “Bald man with no nose shall not harm Master Potter!” he squeaked, and proceeded to slam a dining plate over his head repeatedly. “Bad man! Bad man!” 

The guests seemed too stupefied to do anything but stare. “Go— _Ouch!_ grab— _Ow!_ them— _ahhh_ _!”_ Voldemort’s fingers scrabbled desperately for his wand, but at the moment they finally reached it, a shard of expensive silver dining plate stabbed straight into his arm. The invincible Elder Wand fell from nerveless fingers onto the floor. 

Kreacher gave Voldemort one last good bang over the head, Apparated over to the trio, and escaped to Grimmauld Place. 

The remaining wizards and witches in the crowd were too stunned to have processed what had just occurred. In unison, their heads turned towards a certain Dark Lord at the front of the room, bleeding—actually _bleeding!_ —kneeling on the floor, trying to pick up his wand with bloody, broken arms. In unison, their heads turned away, as if the sight were blasphemous, sacrilegious in some inexplicable way. 

He seemed to make a decision then, and raised his arm at last. “Obliv—” 

He’d accidentally stepped on and snapped the wand while he was thrashing about on the floor. It chose this moment to explode in a massive column of white flames, incinerating him and his broken, bruised, bloodied not-really-a-nose. 


End file.
